


A Good Man

by WithLoweredVoices



Series: Letters To A Ghost [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!John, Blood, Death, Drunk John, Hurt, Johnlock - Freeform, Letters, Love, M/M, Non-established Johnlock, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:26:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithLoweredVoices/pseuds/WithLoweredVoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a heavily intoxicated John writes a letter to a deceased flatmate about good men, and why he is not one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Man

'You're a good man. Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me.'

Was that what he said? I don't remember much of it. Funny, isn't it, how I was so angry I forgot to take in the details. Details are important. You taught me that, in so many discrete methods. Your hand guided me through seas of oblivion, teaching me to be aware of the inconvenient truth. 

Rich Brook. I wrote it down afterwards, over the newspapers, circling it over and over and over. I'm guessing you got the joke before I did, but that was always you. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, bloody brilliant you. A step ahead of everyone. Except Moriarty, in the end, when it mattered most. When the game overtook you and your bloody pride, and ripped a hole in my universe.

Like a Siamese twin without his counterpart. Like veins without arteries. Yin and an absent Yang.

Can you tell I'm drunk? Can you? The blotches will tell you, they will. All of it. Maybe you'll smell the whiskey on the paper.

.  
  


I'm not turning into Harry. That's not it. I just went out with Stamford.

Too many drinks. That's why I thought this was a good idea. Pour my heart out.

You sod. You should have been around when I was drunk. I would have told you a lot of things. Things I can't say when I'm sober and God-fearing and very aware of how poorly constructed our flat is. That Mrs Hudson would hear my string of obscenities. And what comes after.

What always comes after.

You. You. You and you and the blood that streamed out.

Did you know that blood only turns red when the hemoglobin reacts with oxygen? That's how I know you aren't an angel, or an alien, or a demon come to take me away for my sins. Hemoglobin in your blood. Chemical reactions.

You would have liked that.

You would.

.  
  


'I know you're a good man.' That's what it was, that's what Moriarty said.

Very clever, aren't you. You two think you have it all figured out. Your deductions and manipulations and the way you mimic real things, never really knowing. I'm good at hiding. I'm so, so very good.

That's why you never really knew. That, and you're a sod. Sod.  
Obscenities. See?

I'm not a good man. Blood is thick on my hands. I was a doctor, but I shot people of my own accord. I could have been part of the Red Cross. I could have chosen the path of the pacifist, but I'm a protector. Those that protect are not good men. We never are. We have no boundaries, no morals, as long as those that matter are safe. We kill, we conquer, we tear apart the fabric of the universe so that our loves can live. We are the most ruthless.

And, most importantly, when we lose that which we protect, we can only seek revenge.

You're gone, Sherlock. You jumped. I left you when I should have known something was wrong, and I came back too late. I failed.

Revenge.

When Mycroft slips up, when he forgets to close all his fences, I will find Moriarty's web. I will tear it apart. I will make them bleed. I will destroy it.

I will burn the heart out of him.

 


End file.
